30 days of gratefulness***Day 30

(My numbered days of gratefulness may leave some holes but I tried to be true to the date, I will fill in, in other months..)

***Today I am grateful for the way November leads us to the advent season we embark on tomorrow...a path straight to the Savior in the manger. I have no design on how we will mark each day but am determined to stay focused, have fun and live each of the 25 days with the mindset that Christ is coming.

***I am grateful for each marker that announces 'Christmas Season': pine scented soap and candles, Christmas music, twinkly lights, Christmas trees and unloading the ornaments that I treasure, hot chocolate, building traditions within our family.

***I am grateful for the foresight Scott and I had last year. We carefully packaged and sealed all of our decorations, and despite the flood in our basement last winter, everything was intact for this year. We also invested a little bit of money after the holiday season on seasonal items that were on a big discount. How fun to pull brand new (and totally forgotten) purchases out of boxes and give them a home! One discovery were our new stocking holders. There are 5 letters, each holds a stocking and it sits securely on our mantel. I vaguely remember picking the letters up last year at Target, it was in a frenzy and I barely cared what the letters spelled so long as there were 5 (four of us plus one dog stocking ;) ) and the price was under $5. I chose PEACE. As we arranged the letters on the mantel, I took a step back to look, I was staggered by the boldness. Peace? Am I offering it or declaring it? I thought a lot about peace last night and throughout this day as the statement was unavoidable. What does peace look like, what does peace look like in my home? As I did my bible study this week, I felt bombarded by the word, the sentiment. In the last chapters of John, when Jesus appears in His resurrection body, everywhere He appears He declares, "Peace be with you." In fact, in chapter 20, He says it three times. This really got me thinking. Jesus comes back after He has been crucified and the first thing He tells His disciples is to have peace. This sentiment is followed by the Great Commission. Could it be that Jesus knew the disciples would need His peace to share His message? He knew what was ahead of them, He knows what is ahead of all of us, He knows what we need. The peace Jesus offers has its source in Him, His peace is a comfort, it is free and it is a choice. I often decorate around a theme-word. I love words and all that the right word can evoke. Last night, this word didn't feel like one I would choose, I felt unworthy to touch this word. I spent time thinking about the things that evoke peace to me. I rearranged decorations and angled chairs differently, the room was neat and clean, free of clutter and smelled yummy. But it wasn't right, with one irritated look, the concept could crumble. Irritation isn't peaceful. I tried so hard to manufacture peace in my living room...then I got it. I can't create peace or produce an atmosphere that leads others into peace, not exactly. Only Jesus can do that. But, I will boldly proclaim His peace in my living room this season and allow the word to be a reminder to me of Who is peace, Who died for me to be able to experience true peace. I pray this season brings recognition of His peace deep in our hearts so that my family and I are emboldened to feed His lambs, take care of His sheep and feed His sheep. (John ch.21)

30 days of gratefulness ***Day 18

***I am grateful for the words of a stranger. A lovely grandma sat across from me hand-stitching the finishing touches on a green Christmas jumper for a lucky little girl. We were at speech therapy; Jack on my lap, Ben in class, Jack and I were working on vowels and short letter sounds. Ben goes into speech therapy without us now. This has been a hard transition, only for me. Morgan takes Ben into a combined class where she can observe him with peers. I am all for his social interaction developing, however, I miss the constancy of watching her evaluate my boy. To be honest, I need some feedback. It is hard to hand my little boy over for 30 minutes, in this most vulnerable area. God says, 'rest child, he is never not in my hands.' This has provided focused time to have Jack in my lap and work more intently at his skill level. Around us, is the low hum of chatter of other mom's waiting for their child, Jack occassionally bursts out with "aaaaa" or "ooooo" a little too loudly when he has a verbal revelation. I meet eyes with the grandma several times and we smile at each other, charmed with a young learner's thrill of language. As our 30 minutes closes, the grandma puts down her needle, looks directly into my eyes and says with a beautiful New Orleans accent, "darling, you are a good mama." Tears rushed to my eyes and I blinked to hold them back, "wh-what..what did you say" I said, needing her to repeat it, yearning to hear it again. She did repeat it, this time she moved over to me with her hand on my shoulder, "honey, I can jist tell, You are a good mama." I thought immediately of what she had just observed, yes I had been working with my son, but my mind was many different places, I had been thinking about Ben and how he was doing in his class, I was letting myself be sad I couldn't be with him. I wasn't giving Jack my best. I thought of earlier in the morning, when I yelled at both boys because they were busy playing and not moving as fast as I thought they needed to. I thought of how Ben was trying to help me load the dishwasher that morning and I selfishly redirected him so that I could do it more quickly. I thought of how I put them in front of the tv so that I could take a shower and get ready for speech therapy. I thought of the look on Ben's face when he could tell I was frustrated with him for not putting his shoes on in time to go. I am always rushing that child. All these and more flashed through my mind, but she said....I leaned closer and confided, "I don't always know if I am a good mom." My comment was laden with emotion, with need...please tell me more, how do you know I am a good mom, what did you see, did you really see me? "Honey," she said, "let me tell you a little secret from a mama whose raised 4 kids, you are there. You are there. You are givin' God something to work with, child." "Here, give me a little hug." I hugged her tight. This grandma stranger poured into my life something I didn't see that I needed, perspective. In the car, on the ride home, I chewed on that. I am here. I am here. I am here. I am giving God something to work with by being home. All the blessings attached to that reality flooded me with overwhelming thanksgiving to God for the opporuntiy He has given me...

***I am grateful for the schedule God has developed in our home, I know my jobs, He gives me the motivation to make our home run smoothly, and it can run smoothly because I am home.

***I am grateful for my washer and dryer. I am grateful for Mrs. Myers dryer sheets. I am grateful for the triumph of freshly laundered clothes folded neatly in drawers.

***I am grateful that I get to make dinner, every night, for my family. I love to cook. I have all the creative control in my kitchen and I have budding chefs that love to help.

***I am grateful for seeing my time a little differently thanks to a stranger. Because I am home, I have opportunities each moment to pour into my husband, my children, my home itself.

***I am grateful that my selfishness has been pushed to the side burner today and I will look for opportunities to serve my family and thank God that I am home.

30 days of gratefulness *** Day 17

***I am grateful for full weekends. We had a housewarming party at my brother and sister-in-law's beautiful new home. Their home can accommodate us all, so we spent the night. Sunday was my brother's birthday so we celebrated and watched football and had a really wonderful time. How good it was to be all together.

***I am grateful that we have heat to share. My mom's furnace went out and she and my sister have been slumber-partying at our house in the evenings. It feels like stolen time, and I love stolen time.

***I am grateful for Monday's that Scott has off. It is just a continuation of the weekend (although a delay of my household chores) and the boys just LOVE having Scott at home. They cheer, they jump, they build treehouses and forts, they nap in their forts and daddy makes 'bubble art' in the bathtub.

30 days of gratefulness *** Day 12

I am not normally an ice cream kind of girl, but oh my stars, this is fantastic! It has been ingeniously created without sugar, dairy or anything bad for you...and the taste is out of this world. After one bite, I unconsciously slipped my arms around the container, to keep it, to hide it. I have been sneaking bitefulls over the course of 5 days, allowing myself to truly savor every nugget of this pint of pure heaven.

I am grateful for being serenaded. I love to listen to my husband play the guitar while there is a fire roaring in the backround.

I am grateful for MOPS...what a great ministry, I am so honored to be apart of it. I had such a poignant moment Wednesday, with a mom from my table last year. I was never able to give her as much of my time as she wanted. I felt like I wasn't equipped to offer the instruction she needed, I recommended other avenues of counseling...all fell flat. Our walks were similar; her areas of weakness resonated with mine. When we would reach the point in our conversations where I felt like I had listened and processed and may have been able to offer some advice, I would lose her interest. I felt frustrated and impotent and spent a lot of time in prayer for her... I ended the year confused why God would have put her at my table, when I was sure I had not helped, encouraged or offered much in the way of friendship. This past Wednesday, she found me - from across the room I could tell something was different. She walked purposely toward me and embraced me in a hug so big and so filled with emotion, my eyes teared up without knowing why. She shared her journey from the end of the last MOPS year to now. Her life had changed drastically. She wanted me to know my part in it, I inwardly cringed cognizant of how I had let her down. I had let her down. But, God didn't. I gave my testimony during the March MOPS last year. I didn't want to. But, I knew I was supposed to and I chose to be faithful to the urging that God gave me. I have been blessed so much from that experience. But, I was unprepared for how she shared that God used my testimony in her heart. She bought the cd and listened over and over and over during the summer. She listened until she heard what God was saying to her and then she received the same hope that God offered me. She said that I couldn't know how dear I was to her, how much my boldness changed her life, how close she felt like we were now....sisters. She felt transformed this summer and took steps of faith to seek out the counseling help she needed to implement practical changes. When I saw her Wednesday, she had two successfull, beautiful weeks under her belt. I am still processing this situation, chewing over my unending gratitude to God for using me for His glory. I will not forget this lesson; I knew I had something to offer her, I knew so intimately the struggle she faced, but I couldn't get her to hear me. That was never my job. Oh Lord, I am so grateful for your grace and that you give us opportunities each day, each moment, to bear light for You.

30 days of gratefulness *** Day 5

*** I am grateful for friends who open their home and share their good coffee and invest into my children by using the gifts God has given...I am grateful for being welcome to linger too long and soak up beautiful company.

*** I am grateful for the blustery, windy day. The boys exclaimed with joy that the leaves were dancing, and as I paused to watch them skitter down the street I was tickled to see their spontaneous blowing as dancing as well. I am grateful for every opportunity taken to see the world through the eyes of a child.

*** I am grateful for hard lessons learned, and passed. Jack used part of his birthday money to buy Benny a tiny dog (literally an inch and a half tall). Ben delights in closing his fist around his tiny friend and being the "daddy" to this "baby". The dog comes with a little component that can be clipped to a jacket's zipper, but Benny isn't interested in those boundaries, he prefers to hold the puppy. Okay I said, but you must be responsible. "I will, I will!" he assured me. Sure enough, as we meandered through Costco, eating samples and shopping...somewhere, at some point, Benny lost the tiny puppy. We loaded our groceries in the car and knew he was nowhere in the cart or any of our pockets. I trudged back into Costco with the boys, we went down every aisle and asked every kind demo lady we saw if anyone had turned in a tiny, black puppy. No one had. We checked at the membership desk, nothing. As Benny heard the news, his little lower lip popped out and his face contorted into the saddest, silent sob I have ever seen. Then his sob wasn't silent and he was unable to do anything but collapse into a heap on the floor and cry for his little puppy. I carried him to the car, not shushing him, letting him cry, letting him mourn. It was a sorrowful ride home, both boys cried. Jack joined in because, as he said, "Costco is such a big, big place and that puppy is so little. Won't he be scared?" I assured him the puppy would be okay, but for the most part, I just let them cry. As I peaked back at their tearstained faces, they were holding hands. Ohhhhh, my heart just broke. I had irrational thoughts of turning the car around immediately and going to Target and buying another tiny puppy, anything to make that sadness go away. Tears filled my eyes as well as God made clear to me that I was not to do that, but let them feel the loss. This loss was brought on by poor 3 year old logic and irresponsibility, irreverence toward the kind-hearted gift. Some things, though easily replicable are not replaceable. I could buy a duplicate puppy easily, but what would be gained? I have such a hard time looking at a situation with long term vision when the short term moment feels excrutiating. The mom in me wants to alleviate the pain, make it go away, comfort the feelings...but God working through me made this a moment that could be pivotal to Ben. I am grateful for this experience (and grateful it is over) and pray God brings me the moment Ben is ready to receive the conversation and own the lesson.

30 days of gratefulness***day 5

Its been a rough day...but I am thankful for something...

***(dare I say it?) Poop! I am thankful for poop. Its been two days of struggling through Ben's tummy cramps, 4 laxative drops, prunes and prayers and finally, finally we had success. He's "done with that poo poo now mom, can I have dinner?"

30 days of gratefulness *** Day 4

I am joining in on 30 days of gratefulness, but am starting a few days late so I will combine the first three days with this one.

***I am grateful for being a one car family. The days that we do get to have the car become so fun and jam packed with activity, like yesterday, we went to speech therapy, the YMCA, the library and Mobius. It would be so convenient to have two cars, but I am afraid I would forget to appreciate the luxury of piling in the car and venturing out on a weekday.

***I am grateful for momentum. I started this week off well, determined to get my ironing, laundry and housework done, so far so good.

***I am grateful for superheroes. I wasn't sure how appropriate a superhero fixation would be for the boys, but they wear their costumes everywhere, seeking out opportunities to protect and serve. The costumes embolden them to act out what is in their hearts.

***I am grateful for muscles that are tight. It feels so good to work out, to sweat, to put exercise and health back into my routine.

***I am grateful that God is in control of our homeschool time. I make lesson plans and am surprised each time when God tugs the thread that has been woven between each boys' heart and information I believe is relevant, to create a big picture I didn't see coming. Moments like these fill me with validation, purpose and gratefulness.

***I am grateful for silence. I am especially grateful that my heart has been changed and I can rest in silence. Some days I spend my quiet nap time hours in stillness, in silence...these are the moments I know God is beside me, and that He leads me.

birthdays and life lessons

I have missed this interactive journaling; I took a hiatus. I needed to think. I needed to regroup. And frankly, I have been just downright busy. I have written blog posts in my head many times over, and then scratched them...I just wasn't ready. I think the moments that have comprised the last two weeks have gelled into something cohesive, something tangible enough to hold and share. We had a birthday, well more specifically our Jack had a birthday, and he turned five. This birthday has felt momentous. I could feel it coming on in much the same way you sense a cold coming on; you recognize your normal-ness has been invaded and sit helplessly waiting, analyzing every moment, am I worse/better, is it coming? I could sense it in my over-active emotions, in my desire to 'cuddle and hold' a boy who is too tall to sit comfortably snuggled on my shoulder. It was clear that Jack himself held this birthday in new esteem, he was aware of all that five-years-old would mean for months leading up to this birthday. How did we get here so fast? was my pervasive thought for the past two weeks. Has it really been five years since I became a mom, since Scott became a dad? What was life like before Jack, how was it ever as much fun or as funny? As Jack grows taller, he looks more vulnerable to me. This irony is so troubling. He needs me less, I want him to need me more. I am so in awe of the heart God gave him; a heart that is sensitive and bold, a heart that desires justice and looks for opportunities to be courageous. This developing heart is a bud, there are moments that I peek into the blossom God has planned and I reel back from the purity, from the beauty. Oh Lord, do you really love me this much? To make me the mom of these children and the wife of this husband? ... and then, sometimes, it is like the next breath I take is cold air and the beauty I held in my thoughts becomes vaporish as selfishness creeps insiduously through my mind. I struggle to get back to the loveliness but it evades. Then I find myself on the otherside of the passage of time; the loss. How I miss the baby times, the ruddy, drooly toddler times. I didn't do it just right, and I can't get it back. These thoughts paralyze any conscious moving forward. I have lived on this tenuous tightrope of emotional reflecting, until the balance shifted last Thursday at 5:51 pm , central time, when my little man "officially" turned five years old. This last week has been marked by celebration and in Jack's own words: "joy". I had constructed my own projection of what "joy" would look like on your fifth birthday, I foresaw materialistic ugliness bursting forth...I dreaded it. I was so wrong. My anxiety about the time I would have to invest post-birthday to unravel the fists tightly clenched around 'things' was misguided and faithless. Not only those, but I missed the beauty in gifts that reveal the heart of the giver. There were gifts; there were many of those plastic things that hold toys in place scattered, our recycling is full of flattened gift boxes and our home is newly filled with superhero figurines, games, clothes and toy guns...but I noticed something new. Jack will say, "look at how Ironman flies, my aunt Annie gave me him" or "see these wolverine claws!! Max thought of me when he saw them and he gave them to me, can you believe it?" or "this bionicle is just like Noah's" or "can we play this game my friend Ty plays at his home?". Jack associates the gift with the giver and his heart opens to their thoughtfulness. I also noticed how intentionally gifts were purchased, how people have invested time into my son to know him and know what he would enjoy playing with...how overwhelming. Scott and I are so moved by the fellowship God has drawn us toward these last few years. Every year, twice a year, when it is time for a birthday party, Scott and I plot and plan and execute and move on...this party was different. Jack had creative control, he told me what his cake should look like, he told me who he wanted to come to his party (it kept growing, "God has given me so many friends"). There was a sweetness to this party I haven't absorbed before; we were blessed by the presence of the partygoers. Jack got it. He got the blessing deeply, filled to overflowing. This evening I was explaining to him that he received some checks from family too far away to have come to his party. I told him that Scott and I would put it into savings for him, unless there was anything he felt like he needed. He thought for a minute, reminded me that we should give some to God and then said, "Mom, there is nothing else to play with that I want. I have it all, I have it too much. I want to go to Target and buy toys for kids who don't have toys so they have it all too." (still warding off my nemesis materialism) I say, "oh honey, toys aren't what make people happy..", he cuts me off, "Mom, I know that, but I want them to hold a toy and know that I love them." Yes, yes, oh yes.

My Life is good... really, really good.

Let me show you.

I am only three days in to cataloguing my blessings, and I am overwhelmed.

This study bible was a gift. It is perfect, it is something Scott and I have been praying about investing in...and it was a gift. The giver had no idea how much it would mean to us. God's provisions never cease to amaze me .

I am so blessed by my new pillow (I got it at The Trellis, one of my favorite little shops). I have been looking at this pillow since June, wanting it and wanting it. I did it the right way, I saved my 'decorating budget' until I had enough. It wasn't an impulse, it was planned and what a blessing that it remained unsold, waiting for me. I love that little dog face. I love how quickly she makes that pillow belong in our home.

"SuperBen" my very own super boy.

I am so grateful for this moment.

Jack called his 'draama' to ask her out on a date for pancakes. There are so many praises within this story. Praise for my little son's heart that he is so aware of his grandma...he thinks of her every morning, 'does she have her fire on, is she warm enough?' Both my boys love to spend time with their grandma. I cannot blame them. God has blessed me with the most wonderful mother-in-law. Taking these pictures, actually capturing this moment, forced me to pause, forces me to reflect...Lord, you are so good to us.

Thank you for aunt's who will be silly.

And favorite stuffed animal surprises on the camera...

and for them...

and for him..

more to come.

working on something special

I was challenged this weekend to put into practice the gratefulness in my heart. I think grateful thoughts, thoughts full of love and gratitude to God...for a second, and then its time to go change the laundry or pick up spilled apple juice and I get stuck in my day to day living thoughts...I don't always invite God into the everyday moments. Last night, I had an epiphany. I will capture those thoughts (this 'epiphany' may not really be too much of a stretch, so many of you have literally numbered on a weekly basis your gratefulness, your blessings on your blog) in some way to make them stick and to make them translate into every moment of my life. I woke this morning determined to watch for and catch, either verbally or visually, the blessings and joy God has hand delivered to my day. Maybe this is something I should be doing on a daily basis, maybe this is something that should be privately journaled...maybe. I have been unprepared lately for the vulnerability I feel in having a blog, especially because my blog posts have been getting increasingly more personal (and now that I have added music to my blog, it is like opening the window shades to my heart). Maybe this gratefulness posting will transition to private, but for now I am going to establish the discipline....posting provides some accountability. I find I need it. I woke this morning with a praise song playing in my head. I saw my boys differently when they came running at me, all tousled and sleepy-eyed. I thought, 'I want to capture that in black and white, then it would look timeless, I want to keep that snapshot in my memory of my boys almost 5 and 3 and a half, and the way they look at me with big loving eyes, I want to thank God for the privilege of being their mom and being at home.' God's blessings surround me every moment, I don't want to miss them or look past them focused on the unimportant. I am determined to see them and post them. ...more to follow.

Date Night

My 'date' tonight reminded me of God's graciousness.

We hoped for bigger plans. But reality is, bigger is not always possible. What is possible...can blossom from mundane to beautiful. A fire...good wine...boys with no naps who go to bed early...laughter....enjoying each other...remembering. Its the remembering that makes me tear up, makes me want to hug Scott and not let go. It wasn't that long ago, maybe four years, that we both admitted we weren't sure our marriage would make it another year. And, in those days, before Jesus, there wasn't a lot of incentive to make it, to fight harder or care to push on...'pushing on' meant giving up something, compromising...why bother? We know, we know, that if Jesus hadn't come into our lives in the most gracious, loving way that He did, our love story would have a very different ending. But praise to God that He did come into our lives. He did change our hearts. The 'big plans' in date night or our lives is so different now. We can trust in Him, rest in Him, together. Holding hands and listening to the crackle of a fire provides more contentment than we deserve.

my big boy

They told me it would happen.

The speech therapists told me, I was assured by friends of speech therapists, moms of kids who need speech therapy, friends of our family...it would happen. One day Ben would just take off and speak. No longer encumbered by his hearing deficit, the period of catch up and the normal age equivalency would blur. That day happened Monday.

That day fell on the heels of a weekend I was away from both boys. That day also came during sickness, for each of us. That day also fell while I was frantically pulling out the fall clothes. There was so much other-ness swirling it took me a full day to recognize what was happening. And once I recognized, no cognitized, his rapid change...it took my breath away.

My boy has never been so clearly 3. It has occurred to Ben too. We have a language all our own; it is not so simple as sign language, it is more like charades. As I am his so constant companion, I can deduce what simple word he wants me to understand in just a few complicated moves. (For example, to say 'red' he acts out a car going to a stop sign. Then I know he means 'red'). He caught himself a couple times yesterday...."mama, mama, mama, wait" this is followed by the charade. He charmed us by catching himself and smiling, and then simply saying "tent" or "spiderman" or "bread". He is on a free for all, repeating words as they barely exit the speaker's mouth...because he can. He plays with his words, rolling them over in his mouth, saying them over and over, sometimes accompanied with jumping and other visible glee. Jack couldn't be prouder, "Benny is talking a lot now, he talks like me."

Its not just the verbal ability, its the expression that makes the joy catch in my throat. Benny and I have developed a private ritual, we squeeze each other's hands 3 times to express that we love each other. I don't know why I never did this with Jack, it just became something special with Ben. Maybe because it was nearly impossible for him to say, and I needed to create an outlet for him. I couldn't imagine all that love being trapped in there, unable to share itself. He would frequently squeeze my hand when we hugged or held hands. He would go out of his way to run up to me and grab my hand and squeeze it, because this moment was silent, it also seemed private, personal, just ours. Today he came purposefully toward me, grabbed my hand and said, "I luff you, Mommy." I knew as I heard those sweetly enunciated words, this was one of the most precious moments of my life. I tried to be worthy and smile as tears spilled from my eyes. He said, "why you kie mommy, I said I luff you." I buried my head in his hair, knowing there's no stopping him from growing.

He is wearing size 4 pants that I dug out of my fall storage box. They were Jack's last winter and now they are his. They make him look taller, his new cache of words make him seem older. The confidence his speaking gives him makes him bigger, more independent than he was just last week. My mom's heart is so full of love, longing and the pain of growth it is hard to put this in perspective....my little boy is a big boy, and getting bigger.

This day...these days...

As I shut off the cool water in my shower this morning with a frustrated turn of my wrist, I lamented, "will I ever take a shower in privacy again, without several emergency toilet flushes that steal my hot water?" I allowed myself to think back to the days when I could take leisurely showers, every day with all sorts of beautifully scented soaps and gels, a fancy razor and lots and lots of hot water. I could give myself an hour to get ready for the day, a day that started much later than my current normal. As I toweled off and lotioned up in a 30 second frenzy, I almost drooled remembering the way it had felt to wake up in my bed, in my very own apartment, surrounded by comfortable pillows, awakening because light was streaming in the windows...now I watch the sun come up, take a shower every few days and it is quick by necessity, beautiful soaps and fancy razors seem ridiculously frivilous. Then God's graceful voice drifted to my reverie, and I remembered, it wasn't so long ago that I couldn't afford to take a shower at all until late in the evening when Scott was home and could watch the babies, even brushing my teeth was a luxury in the crazy busy reality of two little boys. It struck me so clearly, this is a phase. I am through that phase and into this phase, and soon enough, I will be taking showers that are entirely private and how I will long for the little eyes peeking into my shower, and blue bubblegum toothpaste goo gobs littering the bathroom sink, and tiny, dirty handprints imprinted to my white towels. My heart opened to this day in all its common-ness, its unremarkableness making it vitally important to me. I prayed that God would help me remember this very average day, and be grateful throughout this day for the stage I am in.

In retrospect that prayer may have opened my eyes to God's sense of humor.

I was halfway through drying my hair (this is an important piece of information that should give the visual of my frizzy, untamed helmet of hair) when the door was knocked with the door knocker...no one I know ever uses the door knocker, it is scary loud and makes us all jump. I run to the door, unlock it and open it. Our little dog, Bernadette, bounds in, runs in circles and circles and circles- almost as if she is chasing her tail, my house bursts into chaos as the boys start to chase her too with uproarious laughter. Ohhhh, I think, I don't have time for this, we have to get to speech therapy....I turn back to the door to see a girl in navy blue uniform, I squint to see her name, A. Parell. Hmmm, what does this mean, I look past her to see her white van with "Spokanimal" printed on the side. Ohhh, this is starting to make sense. "Is this your dog, ma'am?" "It is," I replied. "Is your dog licensed, ma'am?" Ummmm, I have no idea, which I am guessing means no. She comes in, she writes me a citation, I pay $45 on the spot to license Bernadette. Unluckily for me, A. Parell had been in the neighborhood picking up a cat that had been run over (don't worry Jenessa, not any we know) when Bernadette rushed up to her and licked her hand (dumb!!). A. Parell then followed Bernadette in the van as Bunsy lead her right to our home. How unfortunate!!! I didn't even know she was loose, it must have happened when I was in the shower....(yes, I will be reflecting on this judgement later)...by the time A. Parell leaves, it is 10:18am, speech therapy is at 10:30, a 15 minute ride by bike. We tear around, of course no one can find their shoes. I cringe at my hair and stuff it in my bike helmet. I pull the bike and trailer out, put the kids in (despite their cries that the seat is wet, "well, today we just have wet bottoms!" I announce) and I take off at 10:24. I know I have to go fast to get there no more than 5 minutes late. I can do this, I tell myself. One block into the ride and I can tell something is not right. My breathing gets labored, I am REALLY starting to sweat, my thighs are on fire. It feels like I am going up a steep, steep hill. I press on. 8 blocks in and I exclaimed, "ehhhhhhhhh", I was beginning to admit I just couldn't do this. I was pedaling as hard as I could and my bike was weaving, again just like I was going up a big, big hill, but I was on a flat surface, absolutely no grade that I could make out. I pulled over. I threw up into a bush, I was pouring sweat and my thighs were in serious pain....then I considered that maybe something was wrong with the bike and not me. I checked, we had two flat tires on the bike trailer. I was literally dragging the boys. I was stuck, we were equidistant from home and speech therapy, by my calculations it was probably 10:30. Okay, I thought, just keep going. The boys are chatterboxes behind me, curious why they saw me throw up in a bush, why do I keep exclaiming "ehhhh" and "arrrrr" am I pretending to be a lion? I get there and nearly fall off my bike, I can't keep it from crashing as I land on my bottom and the bike lands on me, tipping the boys in the trailer to a 45 degree angle. I tried to stand but my legs will not support me. I rip our helmets off our head, lock the bike from the position I fell in and announce, "go, go, go, mama will follow!" They grab each others hands and head inside. It takes me a moment to regroup, but I get up and go in, I get more attention than I'm comfortable with as I walk through the door. Then, I remember my hair and as I awkwardly put a hand to smooth my hair with is 4 inches too high and not calming down, I notice how profusely I am sweating. I sit down in a chair, ask Morgan (our speech therapist) if she would mind taking Benny without Jack and myself today, as clearly I need a minute. She does and Benny cheerfully goes with her, yelling "bye Mom" loudly enough for everyone to turn and steal another look at me...my breathing sounded LOUD to my ears and my heartbeat was so fast I was sure people could hear that too. I put my head back against the chair and shut my eyes. The receptionist came over and poked my arm and said, "are you okay?" I nodded and tears filled my eyes, "my bike, flat tires, tired" I said. She asks if I have a cell phone, I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head back and forth no. She said I could use the phone...I draw a blank...I tried to come up with my mother-in-law's cell phone or Jenessa's home number...Scott's work number? I got close, I got the wrong department at the right hospital and was able to be transferred. Unfortunately, he was en route to Valley hospital, no way to reach him. A voice behind me says, "do you need a ride?" I turn around to see an angel or my new best friend, Maria. She says, I have a van with three car seats and only one child with me, the seats fold down, maybe we can fit your bike in? Ohhh, I nodded and followed her. 20 minutes of refangling her van and haggling with the bike and trailer and finally we had room in the van and the bike and trailer un-hitched (which required looking through the storage room with the receptionist for a screwdriver and pliers, both of which we found). The thee of us sized up the options and figured how to get it all in, as I tip my bike trailer sideways to fit it in the van and disgusting brown liquid rushes out the wheel wells, "ewwwww" we all scream and rush away from the liquid which coats me and my pants. We figure that it is probably rusty water and as if I could be more embarrassed, I am. Somehow we fit the bike and the trailer into her van, and all three kids (in legal car seats even) and both of us. She drives us home and helps me get everything back out of her van. In a moment of possible lunacy, she asks if I would like to have coffee sometime. This makes me laugh and laugh and laugh, it seems proposterous, but why not? I have a new friend and am a new fan of mini-vans.
We rush into the house, the boys get in their seats at the table and announce they're ready for lunch. I open the fridge to find a row of superheroes sitting on the top shelf, arms raised as if in self-defense. That was it, all I could take! I collapsed on the floor, laughing/crying....this day has been anything but unremarkable...and its only 12:30!

Homeschooling

Homeschooling is really hard. Its not necessarily that I thought this was going to be a breeze, but I sort of assumed the toughest parts were behind me; deciding with Scott to homeschool, researching curriculums, organizing my day to accommodate homeschool, lesson plans, preparing the boys for school at home (convincing them they're not missing anything on those big yellow schoolbuses or the playgrounds of 'other kids schools'). We launched in last Monday and (all that preparation for 35 minutes, just had to throw that in) I finished with relief tinged with exhileration....excited and butterflies in my stomach. It took me a several days to analyze my body's response. As we sat down for the first day of school, I looked at the two sets of eager, innocent eyes glued on me, their teacher, and immediately the responsibility that God has entrusted me with, took root. I had camouflaged that acknowledgement deep into my research, believing that that feeling would develop, not into fear, but into gratefulness. Any rational part of my brain would have agreed, what's intimidating about a 4 year old and a 3 year old....
I wouldn't have let myself predict that I would be overcome with the task in the same minute school began. Oh, but I was. I had enough presence of mind to squeeze my eyes closed over tears that wanted to come and bow my head for a silent prayer for strength, to be worthy...to be humble. Its funny how God works; He gave me the words in that prayer to root out the problem, but it has taken me two weeks, perhaps I should say it has only taken me two weeks and for that I am so grateful. Accepting responsibility for the boys education has lead me to believe I am in charge of their education and an insidious danger crept in...I allowed myself to believe those boys are mine. I built my confidence about being their teacher by doing research, analyzing and thinking through learning styles, I drew graphs, I built a homeschool alcove under my stairs...I prepared, I prepared me. And in the process, I forgot. I forgot Whose boys those are. I forgot Who has paved the way for school at home, Who determined their curriculum, Who formed them and made them in my womb, Who knows who they will grow up to be and knows fully what I am capable of and my limits. I forgot Who knows the whole picture, the beginning and the end and Who holds my life in His hands.
My homeschool idealism crumbled last night. I had a dreadfully ineffective week as a teacher. What an important lesson that God in His grace brought to my attention: I cannot homeschool. Let me write that again with the proper emphasis; I cannot homeschool. I almost bought in to the first statement until His grace shone through my guilt and tears and I realized how much I had been reliant on me and not on Him. My pride, my pride, my pride again. Oh my wretched pride. What a deceptive confidence I built a homeschool house in, thank you God for sending the winds that blew that house down in only our first two weeks. My Mom (whose very job is counseling and encouraging homescool mom's) gave me sage advice. She reminded me of the essence of homeschooling, its flexibility, its ability to morph and grow with the family it serves. To relax, this is pre-school homeschool and I was heading in a direction that would produce an exhausted first year, and more than likely, no second year. I spent last night feeling exposed, embarassed, deeply humbled and woke this morning new in God's mercies. I am regrouping. I pray this lesson goes deep (as my Benny says, "down, down, down to my toes"). I am overwhelmed at the beauty of the task before me. Thank you Lord Jesus.

there and back again, we made it!

Thanks to Jenessa, my bike has been warmed up and somehow (I don't know how she did this, but it actually looks fun!). The boys and I had no choice, we had to ride to speech therapy today. We did it! As I pulled out of the driveway, I was wracked with panic, do I ride on the left or the right of the road, sidewalk?? I didn't know the etiquette of bike riding with a trailer. Which direction? I thought I chose well, but I rode the direction I would have if I was walking. This decision posed many obstacles, not the least of which was stopping at an intersection and restarting when it was my turn to go. Cars waited patiently as I got momentum, at Washington and Buckeye there is a slight incline....you may not notice it if you are in a car, but I will never forget it as it slowed my progress crossing the street with several cars behind me. Oh, the humility. At one point, I was really cruising (and thinking, shouldn't I shift gears...no, no, no best to stay right where I am, I could always shift and make it harder and not get back...yep quintessential bike riding skill) when I heard the boys laughing. "Wha-a-at's so f-funny?" I panted. "Mom, we can see your underwear" Jack yelled. Oh, the least of my problems. We survived!!!

God Redeems

See this flower? This beautiful Stargazer lily? This is Scott and my wedding flower. I planted four bulbs in May in a pot outside our bedroom, planning on being all romantic and stuff. Well, they never bloomed. I read on-line that sometimes you have to wait two seasons before a lily gets comfortable and blooms. Okay, I thought, I will wait, it will be worth it.
Yesterday was our six year anniversary...and yesterday this beautiful flower unfurled its hot pink petals to bloom. We couldn't believe it. What an amazing reminder of God's perfect timing. His deeply personal attention to us, His intimate knowledge and the simplicity of soul-deep blessings.

more than a little boy

We met my mom at Starbucks for our official last day of summer ritual...its true, school begins for her tomorrow. Jack got his special summer-with-my-mom-at-Starbucks treat, a chocolate chip cookie and a hot chocolate "to dip the cookie in", of course. Ben got a green Odwalla juice and a cookie and I got my favorite, iced coffee with cream and no sweetener. Bittersweet, this is also the ritual that begins our summer. Jack's eyes got huge and until he swallowed his cookie, I was unsure what the drama was, "Mom, I have to go potty, now!" Okay, okay, I usher him back to the women's restroom (this is such an interesting dilemna with little boys, men or women's restroom, especially when I mainly wait outside), he has me stand outside the door with my shoe and elbow keeping the door from being completely closed, this way he has "privaceny" which is very important when you're almost 5, and he also can keep track of me and know I am right there when he can see my elbow and shoulder inside the door. I peek, of course I do, its my delight as a Mom to see my little guy work through all the necessities of pottying all on his own. ... pulling his pants up too high, deliberating about tucking his shirt, then pulling it back out, flushing, watching the toilet flush with glee, maneuvering his body to get the soap dispenser button pushed and his hands under the soap dispenser in time (this takes 3 tries), then thoroughly washing his hands, singing his ABC's and even getting those crevices between the fingers that I believe are vestibules of germ magnets, then I saw the amazing. I haven't noticed my boys have any interest in their reflection in a mirror, until now. Jack saw the remains of his chocolate chip cookie all over his chin and cheeks and he wet his hands and scrubbed it off. Then he turned his head right and smiled, then to the left and smiled, then he pretend laughed. Then he saw me looking, and completely unembarassed, he turned and took my hand and said, "Mom, remind me to thank God in my dinner prayer for my great smile."

Sugar

I put on my favorite jeans today. I anticipated the tingle of seasons changing as I pulled them up over my knees. My calves and ankles no longer exposed, instead enveloped in familiar comfort, then, snapping the snap and allowing myself the pleasure of anticipating fall as summer creeps to an end. ... But today, they were tight. I should explain, these are not just any jeans, these are the jeans that always fit, my go to when feeling insecure. They have been washed a bazillion times and always stretch into the molded form I expect. I chose these jeans specifically because they keep secrets, and I expected would forgive every indecent snack that has defined my summer. That was the plan anyway. Betrayed! I was immediately flooded with reality, no more my reverie and romantic notioning away summer...I am welcoming fall with tight jeans. I folded my head in my hands and knew it was finally time to confront my nemesis. Sugar.
I embarked on the Prism program (essentially life change, not diet...oh if only, in which you give up all processed foods, especially white flour and sugar in lieu of God-made beautiful food in its most minimally altered state) two and a half years ago. I had great success, and have mostly stayed away from sugar since, tho the other bad boy (white flour) has crept his way back in. Going off of sugar was the most violent withdrawal process I have ever lived through (*dramatics intended). It was six weeks long and frought with headaches, irritability for me and those around me, poor sleep, anxiety, shaking, you name it, miserable. So, why, why, why you ask would sugar EVER come back into my life?? Excellent question. I pose it to myself. My answer sounds pathetic even to me...I love it. Now don't get me wrong, I am more of a salt-tooth than sugar-tooth anyway...giving up potatoes in any form is just darn near impossible. So it takes a while for the more natural allure of sugar to tempt me, two years in fact. Oh, I have dabbled over time, and I have paid with serious migraine headaches, powerful enough to remind me why it just isn't worth it to have had that piece of cake. But this past July, I threw caution and good sense to the wind and had me some cake, some cheesecake, all those brownies and cookies, lemonade, fudge, fudge, fudge, waffles, french toast, biscotti...I caught up. I tasted what I'd been missing. I would announce, "oh, I'm on sugar!" and dive headlong into the frosting (embarrassingly some of you may know to which frosting I refer).

The fun is over sugar.

I have to call the game. I need my jeans back. My apologies in advance, the next six weeks may be rough. I write this with complete resolve and all I can think about is a gooey, caramel laden chocolate cake, three decadent layers unable to hide the buttercream sandwiched within...a triangle of chocolate torte placed on a pool of sweet cream with bittersweet chocolate shavings artfully surrounding raspberries that line the plate....one perfect square inch of rich, really rich milk chocolate fudge, a generous slice of cheesecake surrounded by voluptuous strawberries dipped in chocolate...and my all-time favorite, peanut butter cheesecake in a crushed nutter-butter crust topped with peanuts, served with vanilla bean ice cream. Heaven will have to wait. The battle is on.

Cheeseheads

Yep, there they are. My little cutey pies in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Were we really there just two weeks ago? Wow...are we really back home? I am downing my third full glass of lukewarm water (my body must have been feeling slightly dehydrated, neglected, exhausted, probably all) in but an hour, staring blankly at a carved rock that says, "Paradise" in my windowsill and puzzling the surreal-ness of life on a Sunday evening. Vacation is officially over as all the laundry has now been washed, folded and put away. The sun bleached bathing suits and the eons of white t-shirts are back in their respective drawers...I've emptied the last bit of sand from our suitcases and we've vacuumed out the car. Following on the heels of a wonderfully FAST and jam-packed 9 days of vacationing in Michigan was Scott's 40th surprise party this weekend. I had many, many covert lists going (none in the same or even a predictable spot, however). I had phone calls to make and loose ends to tie up last week as well as re-packing our suitcases for a two day trip to Seattle. Scott was kidnapped by his brothers Friday at 5:45 am on his way to work and taken to Seattle where he had a great time enjoying the emerald city and their mariners. The boys and I followed behind to surprise him Saturday morning at Alki Beach at his birthday party. One of my most favorite moments of the hectic past two weeks occurred in the car as I was preparing to leave for Seattle. My bags were loaded and the boys were fastened in their car seats. I heaved a sigh of relief and shut my door. As I turned on the engine, I heard Jack say, "Um, mama...Benny and I were just wondering, where are we going? What are we doing? Why are my underwear back in that red suitcase?" This was the icebreaker my nerves needed, I laughed and laughed hard and kept laughing and had to turn the car off to catch my breath. In all my secrecy and careful planning I had intentionally kept the boys in the dark, I didn't want them inadvertently telling Scott too much. My good little troopers had piled back into the car for what could have been another round of three day traveling for who knows where. Oh, the simplicity of being a child!!!

Here we go!!!

Okay vacation, here we come. Scott, Jack, Ben and my Mom and I are leaving Thursday afternoon, by car, and traveling 37 hours to Michigan... We will be gone for 9 days, four of which are spent in the car. Our directions are printed, our clothes are packed, the food is prepped and ready for the cooler. The boys have snacks, new books, new crayons and a new movie. We will be enjoying Lake Michigan and both my mom and dad's extended families. We are really excited and praying that energy doesn't wear off by Montana. Please pray for us, for safe travel, for patience with one another, for nice weather, for space and time with God in our cramped car. We will miss everyone and see you all after August 9!

Water~Trampoline Babies!!! Happy Summer days...

Little Gifts

Ben and I have been attending his speech therapy lessons for four weeks now. His speech is moderately delayed due to some severe hearing impairments at critical speech development stages. He suffered from ear infections that caused damage (not permanent, thank you God). His hearing was 30% 2 months ago, it is now 75%, and his ears are draining on their very own accord (no tubes needed). He has been making some progress in speech therapy, not rapid, but gradual and building. One of the most interesting things I have noticed is his strong personality emerging. He doesn't like to be pushed to practice something he doesn't feel confident in. He will cross his little arms and say, "all done," or "I did" when asked to repeat a word. Sometimes he just says, "no." According to his speech therapist, he is a perfectionist and has a stubborn streak. As his mom, this isn't really news to me, but ohhhh, to see it so clearly impede his own progress...tough. To parent this child, to help them along and challenge them without producing insecurity in imperfections...a balancing act. We have made tenative stabs at his memory words, right now we're working on the "p" and "t" sound at the end of words. He will invariably leave that sound off of the word, so hat is ha. I inwardly sigh, knowing that this deficiency means he stuck at the second level of expressive development, and we just move on. Last week at his appointment, when prompted, he correctly said, "soup" and "ketchup"!! Wow! However, since then he has refused to say them or to attempt them. Oh, I think. What now. I diligently ask and push him to try again, reminding him he has said them before and so well! "No," I hear.
As I was putting the boys to bed last night, I gave them their final kisses and Ben grabbed my cheeks. He looked at me, straight in the eye, he said, "Mama....zup (soup!)". I felt tears sting my eyes. He gave me a gift, he knew what hearing that word would mean to me. I swept him up in a big hug and he cuddled right in. He patted my hair, as if he was comforting me. I knew right then I could face my deep, dark fears about his speech inabilities. It would be okay. He would talk. He would catch up. Perhaps Ben had been practicing on his own, privately perfecting these words. Perhaps he just needs intimate moments to share his budding language skills with me.
This morning, in his breakfast prayer, with his eyes tightly closed, he prayed for Mama, Daddy, his car and....'Jesus.' He peeked his eyes open to look at me. Did he say it right? Did I know what he meant?
I so took for granted speech with Jack. It seemed like all of the sudden he was talking, he was expressing himself. Our communication built and built at predictable levels. With Ben, this impedement has caused each word, each verbal expression to be a gift. Each simple word is surrounded by such work; a consonant here, form your lips like this, your tongue here, try again, try again, good job!, nice try!, you're awesome. These simple words have cost me something, they have cost him something. I will not take them for granted.

Music

Over breakfast, I asked the boys what their favorite song is. Ben immediately began singing his "ABF's", Jack struggled to explain..."it is the part of the show where Super-Y solves the puzzle and the music goes...du da dee dee, yeah, that's my favorite song." I dropped my spoon. This transported me back to a horrifying moment in my childhood, a moment when you realize you are not cool. ...
It was the first day of sixth grade. I was sitting in the second seat in the first row, the second seat because I desperately wanted to sit in the first seat but was too shy to be that assertive. I blocked the first seat with my hot pink jelly shoe, hoping no one would sit there, this way I had all the benefits of sitting in the front, but had less attention. No one did sit there. Our teacher, Mrs. Garrison decided to do an icebreaker (I still hate these and would have loved to melt into my seat, a common fantasy for me) we were to write down our favorite song, without attaching our name to it and then she would read them aloud and we would all speculate whose song was whose. She gave me the paper first...I turned red and started to sweat. I had an agonizing mental argument going on. My favorite song, the one that was my true favorite was Chariots of Fire, I was familiar with this classical piece because on a Sesame Street spoof, Masterpiece Theatre, they would play this piece of music and show Grover running along the beach. These were the days when I would pretend to run along the beach, like Grover, hearing this music in my head. I would run so fast and close my eyes and pretend like I had wings. I knew I was too old to enjoy Sesame Street, but I did. We never had cable, I had never seen MTV. We lived on the outskirts of town on a West Virginia hillside, I didn't have neighbors or other kids to play with, just me and my imagination. I would run and run and collapse under a dogwood tree and dream about my wedding day. I wasn't sure, but I could guess that other kids in my class were listening to different music and not classical. I knew it would be certain death to put Chariots of Fire on the paper, so I racked my brain. The only music I had any exposure to was what my mom listened to in the car, it was always the soft listening channel. Well, sure, I liked that just fine. Truly, I didn't know there was an entirely other world of music out there. I had two favorites; a duet by Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville, Endless Love and Kenny Rogers, You Got To Know When To Hold 'Em. I figured either of those would fit the bill, the duet seemed a little cheesy, so I went with Kenny. I wrote it, boldly and passed the paper behind me. I knew something was wrong when I started to hear giggles. Three people behind me was Julie Myers, the most popular girl in sixth grade. She did the math and knew it was me who wrote down Kenny Rogers. She couldn't keep this to herself, she poked me in the back, and gave me the paper back, shaking her head and holding back a torrent of giggles. I quickly crossed out my answer and wrote down what everyone else in my row had written: Guns 'n Roses, Living on a Prayer. I do remember thinking...who? Mrs Garrison held the paper up, looked it over and said, it looks like someone tried to write, "uh, Kenny Rogers". Everyone erupted! One boy, Sean Boynes, yelled, "it had to be Katie!" Ohhhh. There it is. Not only wasn't I cool, but other people seemed to have noticed. When I went home that day, I scolded my Mom about her betrayal in musical taste. "Apparently there is other music out there, why do we only listen to that station!?" She smiled and let me in on a secret, "you are much better off without all that anyway." Um, really? That was hard to swallow.

Jack followed up with another favorite, My Little Sunshine. This helped me breathe a little. That seemed age appropriate cool, or does it, oh and why does it matter! I still struggle through this and share it with my mom at Starbucks over a cookie and iced coffees. She laughs, I tell her Jack's favorite seems to be My Little Sunshine though, so all should be fine. She bursts into My Little Sunshine, right there in Starbucks, all three verses with my boys piping in. People looked.....there it is.

My young lions' heart

I had planned on spending my nap time today reading. I got my ice water and my magazine and book (options! I had both Christianity Today and The Visitation by Frank Peretti). As I was settling in to my favorite seat in the living room to watch birds and read, I heard a most disturbing sound. Jack was singing his ABC's. He should have already been asleep if a nap were to happen. We are in an odd period of fluctuation between taking a nap and skipping a nap. There is no dependable marker, just random days of sleep punctuated by cranky evenings or late nights. Shoot! I thought. I ignored the sound for several minutes before my more sensitive radar kicked in. He could lie there miserably for an hour or I could forego my alone time and enjoy some one on one time with my boy. I did let him get up, envisioning thoughtful conversation, book reading, homeschool time...some quiet endeavor that left us both feeling closer. Um, Jack had something different in mind. He said, "Mom, Benny is asleep! We could fight, just the two of us!" By 'fight', Jack had in mind both of us being lions and wrestling around. This never does sound fun to me. I am usually able to elude the invitation, but this time I thought about how his play is his work. I thought about what valuable time and insight into Jack I could gain if I decided to relate on his level and not force him to mine. What a great time I had! We wrestled around, I was Momma lion (Sirabi for those of you familiar with The Lion King) and he was Simba (the grown one with red hair, not the small version in the opening of the movie, of course). I haven't laughed that hard at bodily noises that shan't be discussed here, in....well, maybe ever. We talked about his friends, who we should invite to our house to fight, who he likes to play with in Sunday school. He told me his favorite kind of ice cream (every lion prefers vanilla with sprinkles in a cone, not a bowl). His favorite color is still red although he is thinking about changing it back to blue. Why, I asked? "Well, because it is summer and I have been thinking a lot about water," he says. Then he clarifies, "ocean water blue not pool water blue." Of course, I say, having never thought about the difference. His imagination and logic is held tight within the boundaries of the movies he has seen. "You don't always need wings to fly, Mama, just a little pixie dust." Then we were off fighting like Peter Pan and Captain Hook. "Hey, we could fight in space like meteors, but we have to fight like dogs." (Space Buddies, in case anyone missed the reference.) He wondered about aliens, asking me tentatively, curious if this was something okay to talk about. He was always thoughtful to let me be the princess or at least female counterpart to any movie, always ending our play with regard to my being "saved." I followed his train of thought, his adventure, with no correction or additions...I don't think I have ever done this before. We ended in each others arms, my little valiant lion asleep on my forearm. I looked at him with tears. I so clearly remember him little, I know the details that are just reserved for Mom's about his every waking, breathing moment for the past four and a half years. How did he get so big? I remember hoping for a baby girl when I was pregnant. I was so confident Scott and I would have girls. I am so well suited for little girls; I still love to play barbies, tea parties, the color pink in all its shades. I was bemused, curious, even a little disappointed to find out twice, God chose boys for me. I am so glad that my life rests in His wisdom, not my own. I am so glad to trust that God not only gave me two boys, but these two boys to love and train. ... Not even five minutes after my musings about my little lion, the other little lion (well, no he prefers to be a tyrannosaurus rex) was awake. I couldn't have spent my 'alone time' any better today. Thank God for interruptions and adventures. Thank God for little boys.

Overflow

I don't know if any of you work on memory verses with kids, but this week I went for; "Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks" ...um, what verse is that? So my memorizing needs a bit of work. Anyway, I thought that this would be a good verse to imbed deep into their impressionable little minds to pull out when applicable. (And don't you know, it will be applicable!) I decided to go the extra mile with this one. I set up a station at my sink, chairs so the kids could climb up and see the "speriment" I was going to perform. I filled a cup with water and then let the water keep running, to their very wide and shocked eyes, I allowed the water to spill over the glass and keep spilling! I talked about overflow. I talked and talked and talked about how that represented our hearts and that what we put in our hearts will come out of our mouths, la dee da dee da and on I talked. I had their rapt attention. I knew this sunk in. They hopped down from the chairs, we sat right down on the kitchen floor (another attention getter) we memorized the verse. We said it over and over and over. We talked more about overflow and about hearts. I patted my little guys on the head and knew I did my job this day. I taught them how to guard what goes into their hearts...and maybe more importantly, to be watchful about what comes out. Yep, I did it.
So maybe you've guessed where this might be heading. If you guessed that this would be a beautiful opportunity to thoroughly humble this mama...you guessed right! I ask the boys, in front of their daddy (of course) to recite their memory verse. Jack does it like clockwork. Ben does all the hand gestures and gets a couple key words. I beam. I say, "Jack, tell Daddy what that verse means." He says, "Well, it means that sometimes, I guess its okay for mama to waste water."

Father's Day

I think that I have figured out how to post pictures. Here goes! These are pictures from Scott's moody broadcast.

Scott won!

If you missed the live broadcast from my living room this morning on Moody radio...this is the place where you should click on a blue, underlined internet address and go directly to the audio feed...however, I just don't have all this figured out yet. So sorry, in fact I cannot even get pictures on here yet! Months from now I will laugh at my naiivete with this computer, but for now all I can do is give the written description of this day. What a beautiful day to be a child of God.
I entered Scott in Moody radio's Father's day competition: Marinade and Serenade. I had to submit a 500 word essay about him. The inspiration was so easy. Monday morning the boys and I were making his father's day card. I asked each boy for a word that they thought of when they thought of their daddy. Ben immediately said, "BIG!" Jack thought for quite a while and then came to me with the vision for the entire card, he wanted to watercolor a cross in the center and then in the bottom right hand side, write the word 'servant.' I said, "Jack...honey, what does that mean to you? What is a servant?" He said, "well, a servant is someone who has Jesus in their heart and helps other people. A servant is my daddy." It made me cry. I knew it was my entry to the competition and a segue to talk about what a servant's heart Scott has. I couldn't believe they chose our entry as the grand prize winner. At 8:15 this morning, a quartet (um, plus 2) showed up to serenade Scott with appreciation. He was so moved. He is so deserving. I can hardly express what my heart feels this day, right now. As a wife, as a mom, as a child of God's who He blesses without any reason. Thank you God. Thank you for giving me this day to look at my family with fresh, wet eyes and know so clearly how blessed I am. To see in my little son such purity and boldness, to grasp that you have given him to us to guide and train, thank you. Thank you God for seeking me, for patience with me, for changing me. Thank you for showing me how beautiful the role of wife is, the balance in a heart that seeks submission. Thank you for my husband and his devoted heart. This day will forever stand out to me; the feelings of unworthiness running smack into the heart of God and finding rest there.

can't tell you why ;)

Anyone who has a chance, listen to moody radio tomorrow at 8:15 am!!!

So we're making a playroom...

My life has been consumed for the last two weeks with renovating our (creepy, spider-filled, dark) basement into a playroom. Could it be possible? Would we actually like to hang out down there? Could I leave the kids down there with the spiders while I was upstairs?? I guess the answer is, "yes!" We finished!!! We painted the concrete floor Star Gazer Blue (maybe a little bold, nope!) and the walls 3 coats of Champagne Dance...its still in my hair, like highlights gone tragically wrong. We moved the used couch and loveseat in, hooked up the cable down there, added shelving for toys and Voila, a playroom/family room is born. I love it!! I may be fooling myself but I almost believe it is soundproof...I only hear muffled yelling, quiet enough to ignore. As I speak, there is not one toy upstairs, not a piece of a toy to trip over or bonk into in the night...they're all downstairs, on their appropriate shelf in their appropriate bin. Wow. So that's what this feels like, calm. ...now onto the laundry room...

Bleed and Cut Knees

What is it with little boys and beat-up knees? Summertime brings so many familiar moments, some good and some not so good....mosquitos and lemonade, daylight until 9pm (guilt when you're in bed before its dark), and the plethora of band-aids that I must stock to keep up with the knees that I must tend. Its constant, it seems. As soon as the weather gets warm and then very warm, my boys start tumbling. Typically they land on concrete, but I've bandaged up knees that have flecks of grass stuck to them. Perhaps the summer brings out a different kind of purpose in running itself. Running with more speed, more abandon, pure joy....and then they crash. Their reactions are so different. I have one who hardly slows down, wipes blood away and continues on and one that is so fascinated by "bleed" that he rates his falls by how many band-aids it requires. A well-earned war wound, complete with a story that shares where he was heading and how fast he was going and then BOOM (the boom is always re-enacted).
We were getting ready to go to the store, putting shoes on and I realized as I was bent down, then sitting down, how funny their little legs looked from this new perspective. Navy shorts on both that stopped right above the knees, between the two of them I counted 8 band-aids. There could have been more, there were scrapes and bruises unaccounted for...I looked in horror at their little calves and said, "oh guys, you have a lot of cuts and bruises and band-aids." They gave me big smiles back and Jack said, "I know Mom...isn't it great!"